


Questions

by thegrumblingirl



Series: On the Devil's Side [1]
Category: Luther (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, the jumper of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What exactly did you do?" He was frowning, and there was no smile hiding his questions now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [countermeasures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/countermeasures/gifts).



> Luther owes Ripley some answers, and each of them do things they shouldn't, but can't stop.
> 
> For Inkie.

A week after pouring gasoline over his head, Luther introduced Ripley to Jenny. He owed him that, along with a couple of other things he hadn't yet said or done. It was a good place to start.

The next time Justin picked him up for work, the DS called him from the car downstairs, and Luther winced into his mug.

"Come up, Justin, I'll be a minute. D'you want some tea?"

A minute later, the buzzer went. Luther let him in, taking in the slightly apprehensive expression on Ripley's face, fighting a smile.

"Morning, boss."

"Morning. C'mon, I want you to... meet someone."

He watched as the apprehension dulled to discomfort, even as Ripley's shoulders tensed in a way that seemed familiar, though Luther couldn't place the memory. Waving a hand through to the living room, John stepped back into the kitchen, picking up a slice of toast. Justin followed his gesture, eventually coming face-to-face with the young girl seated at the small table.

"DS Justin Ripley, that's Jenny Jones. You met her mother, Caroline, a couple of weeks ago, at the station."

Jenny stuck out her hand and Ripley shook it warmly, despite all the questions not quite hiding behind his smile.

"He talks a lot about you," Jenny said quite simply as was her way, but with good humour etched into the corners of her mouth; before going back to her breakfast. Justin's gaze flickered back and forth between her and Luther for a few seconds; the way he usually did when he was confronted with Luther doing something they'd later end up protecting each other from.

Luther saved him the trouble of asking. "Caroline asked me to help bring her home, but I realised too late that home wasn't safe. She's staying with me until she can get a job."

Justin's shoulders relaxed, and Luther tried to remember why that was a good thing.

"What are you gonna do about that today, anyway?" he asked Jenny, and she waved a hand at the laptop on the coffee table.

"Research the fashion blogs, send a couple of e-mails. They care less about your references than those smurfs at the job centre."

John nodded and caught Ripley's eye. "Know what a 'cool hunter' is?"

The DS shook his head; Luther smiled. "Neither did I. Come on, let's go." He gathered his keys, wallet, wristwatch, warrant card; and met Ripley at the door. He hesitated, but then, not taking his eyes off Justin's, called over his shoulder: "Don't let anyone in."

"Get yourselves to work already," was Jenny's only reply, and so they did.

They walked to the car in silence, but when they were buckled in, Justin paused, his hand on the key in the ignition.

"What exactly did you do?" He was frowning, and there was no smile hiding his questions now.

"We'll finish this case, and then I'll tell you."

Justin regarded him steadily, weighing the times Luther had left him in the dark against the things he had done for his DCI anyway; and decided that it could wait for the madman _du jour_ to be caught. Half a minute later, they were on the way to the station.

*

It took them another two days to catch the killer, who had disembowelled his victims and kept specific organs as souvenirs, quite as if he'd wanted to build his own Creature from scratch. Luther had suppressed a gag while looking into the man's freezer, then snapped it shut; trying to let the relief of having stopped him clamp down on his anger.

"Boss?" Justin was right behind him, his hand hovering somewhere between Luther's elbow and his lower back. Not that Luther could see that, but he knew it would.

He nodded. "Come on, we're going. Let SOCO deal with the rest."

"And the report?"

"We'll write that tomorrow."

They left the basement, left the house, left the cold, stale air behind them, both drawing in a deep breath to get rid of the lingering smells of blood and insanity. Schenk met them on the front steps.

"Busy day, gentlemen. Excellent work, both of you."

"You know how it is. Always on the go," Luther quoted Alice's words back at Schenk, feeling Ripley beside him twitch as he picked up on the amusement in his voice. It was a petty sort of joke, but he knew Alice would have appreciated the irony. He'd only agreed to 'No secrets, no agendas.'

Schenk dismissed them with a firm order to go home, get some rest, and not to turn up for work until 10. When they got into the car, Luther said, without preamble: "I owe you an explanation."

"Yes, you do."

"Can we go to yours? Jenny's tough, but... it's two in the morning, and we're gonna end up arguing."

Ripley huffed a quiet laugh and nodded, then put the car in reverse.

*

John had never been to Ripley's flat before, but when he entered, he saw immediately how this just _would be_ his apartment. It wasn't much bigger than John's, though without a guest room; but it had actual paint on the walls and an inviting-looking sofa. There were shelves with books and DVDs lining the wall to the right, and he had to fight the impulse to get closer and look at the titles. The place seemed mostly neat, but it had a hasty edge to it born from early mornings, late nights, catching psychotic killers. John glanced around at the inevitable clutter, signs of a life _lived_ in a comfortable place, and tried not to think about most of his still packed up in boxes, half of them bearing police seals.

He took off his coat and suit jacket and walked back into the hall to put them on a hook, then went to find Ripley in the kitchen, making tea. The sergeant didn't say anything about Luther resisting to profile him by his tastes in television. In his own space, Justin looked nearly uncomfortable in his suit and tie, so Luther took the tea bags from his hand and shooed him away from the counter. The younger man smiled gratefully and quickly left the room. John heard the bedroom door open, but not quite close.

Cameron Pell had called Justin his puppy—he suspected that just about everyone did. He remembered his own initial doubts and smiled grimly. Yes, Justin was eager to please, but most of all he was an extraordinary detective. Rising star, indeed. And then, he'd fallen from grace following his instincts and his conscience—his loyalty to Luther. He'd been bumped back to uniform and the night shift in booking, and he still hadn't budged an inch. Coming to get him out of there had been one of the few things Luther had left to be proud of.

Ripley had smiled at him without bitterness or reproach, his eyes fixed on Luther as if he might disappear again at any moment; the delighted shock on Justin’s face at seeing him slotting a piece of John's life back into place. John had sat down, forcing himself to look up at him. He never towered over Justin—he hovered, he stooped to look over his shoulder; but even when they fought over what to do, like in the Lucien Burgess case, he never used his height as leverage. Now, knowing what Ripley had been willing to do, willing to give up, for him, Luther saw what he'd always been: the better man.

Erin had been right. He'd tarnished him, and even after that, he hadn't stopped. He hadn't asked Justin to cover for him per se, he hadn't told him what he'd done, exactly, so he could deny, if questioned, any knowledge; but when Justin had told John that he'd wiped the history on Schenk's computer, a lump of ice had settled in his gut. They'd both escaped with only a few scratches, but John had spent sleepless nights berating himself. He wanted to be the one to get Ripley back on track, but what if he'd taught him too many false truths already?

He knew Justin had his back and wouldn't let him take the fall for anyone unless absolutely necessary; and John hated himself for feeling safe with him, because it made him crave him in the dark.

Except now, standing in his kitchen, knowing how Ripley liked his tea, he welcomed the feeling, letting the warmth of the place closer to his skin, listening to the sounds of Justin changing out of his suit, opening a cupboard and drawers; and he tried not to remember how terrified he’d been after Justin had been abducted. John was dropping the spoon into Ripley's mug when he heard his footfall back in the hall. He turned towards the door and found him in a t-shirt and sweats, a bundle in his hand. Luther picked up the mugs to carry them into the living room, and Justin followed, rubbing his neck with his other hand, something he rarely did.

"It's your jumper," he suddenly said, holding the bundle out to John, who looked back at him in surprise. "I had it cleaned, there's no more blood on it. I wanted to give it back to you, but I kept forgetting..." He held it out again, but Luther made no move to take it. Although it had indeed been cleaned, it didn't look like it'd been lying in a cupboard somewhere, pressed and neatly folded. It looked recently worn.

He shook his head. "Looks better on you, anyway," he said, trying to keep his tone light. Ripley ducked his head at first, but then looked up at John with intent and unfolded the jumper, then pulled it over his head and down his torso, letting his arms drop to his sides as if saying, ‘Now what.’

Luther lowered his eyes first, nodding his head towards the sofa.

*

John wasn’t sure how long it had taken him to tell the entire story, or how often Justin had looked ready to clock him where he sat, but he made it through; and when he was done, he slumped against the backrest, taking a deep breath.

“I know why you didn’t tell me, but you should have,” was the first thing Ripley said in about an hour; and that was neither the end nor the start of it.

They went over the details, over all the options—not that there had been many—and over all the times Luther could have let Justin in, and no matter how good his reasons had been, still were, Ripley was furious.

“I could have helped you from the beginning!” He didn’t yell, they weren’t in the habit of raising their voices to each other, but the anger was bright and consuming, and so entirely different from the poison that cursed through Luther’s veins; and that was when John dropped his head in his hands.

“That’s just it, isn’t it,” he replied, warily. “Alice was right about all of it, but not about you. She said the people around me were vampires, they’d suck my veins dry, crack open my bones and lick out the marrow; because every time someone asks me to help, I do, and I only make it worse, for them and for myself.”

“What’s different about me, then?”

John looked up at that. “Can’t you see that? You’re not the vampire. I am.”

Justin blinked at him.

“You’d just got into the unit, you finally had your job back, and I—” he faltered. The one thing he hadn’t mentioned; the one other thing keeping him sane that he’d thrown into just about everybody’s faces, but had no idea how to say to Ripley. And he couldn’t, not now. This was not the time. “I couldn’t ask you to risk that again, not ever. And then you did it anyway. You cleaned up my mess.”

“I nearly got Erin fired. And you know what the worst thing about it is? I’d do it again.” Turning his head to find Luther staring, he continued, “I still think what I told you two years ago, you can’t go on like this. But I also know that next time something like this happens, I’ll want to know.”

“You saved my career. You saved my _life_. Look at what it did to you; I can’t let that happen again.”

“Are you telling me to request a transfer?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what? If we shouldn’t go on, but can’t stop, either—something has to give, hasn’t it?”

Luther closed his eyes. Not now, not now, not—“Which is why I’m the one who’s gonna leave.”

“What?”

John added the hurt and disbelief in Ripley’s eyes and voice to the list of reasons why leaving was his only option.

“I’m leaving the force, Justin. I don’t know when yet—a couple of more cases to get you settled in and on track for your Inspector. When that happens, you really can’t afford me around anymore.”

“Where will you go?” They both knew it was code for, ‘Will you really be able to let go?’

“I don’t know.” And that was just the truth.

They hadn’t once touched their tea.

Ripley fumbled for his watch under the long sleeve of John’s jumper. “It’s half four.”

Luther rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Yeah, I should go.”

“Only one car, remember?” Justin got up and walked around the coffee table, coming to stand across from him.

“I’ll get a cab.”

“John.” When Luther looked up, Ripley seemed to have surprised himself with the use of his given name; but it wasn’t important. “Would you have actually set fire to yourself last week?”

John didn’t answer. Perhaps he didn’t need to.

“Come on,” Justin murmured and walked out into the hall. John stared after him, watched his retreating back clad in a jumper that was too big for him and fit just right, watched until he disappeared. The door to the bedroom opened and didn’t close. Luther got up and followed, turning off the lights as he left the room, and then the light in the hall. He had his tie off by the time he reached the door. Leaning against the frame, he watched in the dark as Ripley took off the jumper and the sweatpants, dropping them where he stood, and crawled under the covers in his t-shirt and briefs, coming to lie on his side, facing away. John walked up to the other side of the bed, leaving his tie on what looked like a chair in the corner, and stripped down to his pants.

When the mattress dipped behind him, Justin gave a short hum, but didn’t turn. Tired of fighting himself, Luther reached for him, folding himself against his back. Ripley’s hand found John’s and pulled his arm around his waist.

They slept through the alarm.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, I get nothing. Neil Cross created these wonderful characters, I'm just borrowing them.
> 
> Crossposted on ff.net.


End file.
